Chapter 874: On the Way Home (3)

Sichuan Province’s Chengdu—Chengdu.

The first “capital city” meant the city where a province’s administration was located, and the latter “Chengdu” was the city’s name.

But since the way you said them was the same, it could create a pretty ridiculous situation for someone who didn’t know.

“Hey, Sichuan Kim. Where’s Sichuan’s capital city?”

“Chengdu.”

“Right. Chengdu.”

“Yeah. Chengdu.”

“So where is Chengdu?”

“I just said Chengdu.”

“Right, you just said Chengdu, so where is Chengdu?”

“So. Chengdu. Chengdu.”

“Ah, shit...!”

In truth, Sichuan people knew perfectly well that Chengdu was Chengdu, so in cases like this, it was usually just a Sichuan person messing with someone.

But anyway.

Right now, Chengdu was holding a huge feast.

That wasn’t unusual.

Tonight was the last night of the twelfth lunar month—whether it was Chengdu or not, all the Central Plains was loud and bustling with New Year festivities.

But Chengdu’s New Year feast was a little different from usual.

This time it wasn’t just a feast.

It was a grand feast.

Because the Sichuan Tang Clan had flooded the city with money—buying out the street stalls and eateries’ food outright—and then handing it out for free.

Of course, high-end inns and tea houses were exceptions, but people with that kind of money had no reason to chase “free,” and even if they did eat it, they wouldn’t feel particularly grateful.

But ordinary commoners?

It was a good day, but snacks still felt like a burden. The kids begged for street food. You were thirsty for a drink. You wanted to pick at something with your family. But your pouch was so light that only a couple coins rolled around inside....

And then, suddenly—unlimited free food and free liquor!

Of course, when things like this happened, it was one of the Central Plains people’s defining traits to turn it into a riot—like they meant to carry off an entire year’s worth of supplies—fighting tooth and nail.

But you had to look at who you were dealing with.

On Sichuan land, at an event hosted by the Sichuan Tang Clan, there did not exist a Sichuan person who would dare start a riot.

Because any such Sichuan person was a Sichuan person who had already eaten poison and died.

Anyway, commoners raised their free liquor high and shouted hearty toasts.

“To the Heavenly Flower Sword’s victories!”

“Victories!” “Victories under heaven!”

“Sichuan’s Number-One Sword!”

“Sichuan’s Number-One Sword?” “That’s good! Sichuan’s Number-One Sword!”

The Sichuan Tang Clan provided the free booze and food—

And yet it was the Heavenly Flower Sword who received all the thanks, a bizarre situation.

Why?

Because this was the New Year’s kindness the Sichuan Tang Clan was bestowing in accordance with the Heavenly Flower Sword’s wishes!

The Sichuan Tang Clan: a legendary, blowout Thank-You Grand Feast!

“Thank-You” meant repaying kindness with a grateful heart, and in Qing’s homeland it was also a term merchants sometimes abused when they ran “discount events” supposedly to thank their customers.

Of course, they had no gratitude at all, they weren’t repaying anything, their goal was just to make money—and their “discount” was the kind where they quietly raised the price first and then lowered it so you couldn’t tell if it was cheaper or the same.

But the great Sichuan Tang Clan was different from petty scum like that.

Wasn’t the Tang Clan maxim that when repaying kindness, you became a magnanimous person, but when repaying enmity, you became the pettiest petty scum, the tiniest-most-petty-scum?

Qing was already the clan’s benefactor, yes, but that debt had already been settled when they’d presented her with their token of gratitude.

Of course, that token wasn’t “just a token.”

Even the lowest-grade bronze token came with countless small benefits, and on a bigger scale it was a single-use pass where the Sichuan Tang Clan would help you once, no questions asked.

But the highest-grade token Qing had received?

From today onward, the Heavenly Flower Sword and the Sichuan Tang Clan were one body, one unity. An attack on the Heavenly Flower Sword would be considered an attack on the Sichuan Tang Clan.

It was practically an official certification of “Honorary Tang.”

And then?

Honorary Tang Qing—call her something like Seomun Tangqing, roughly speaking—brought the Tang Clan a cart of Blood Cult research texts.

Qing’s intent was simple: the Tang Clan were the experts in this area, so study it and share the results with the Martial Alliance.

But from the Tang Clan’s perspective?

This was a blatant act of goodwill—an enormous kindness.

Even with the same materials, the results differed depending on who researched them.

The massive study records on the poisons the Blood Cult used and how they worked—those could be used to share findings with the Martial Alliance on poisoning symptoms, diagnosis, detoxification, and more.

But at the same time—

It could also elevate the Tang Clan’s already-held poison arts into a higher realm, and that part didn’t need to be shared—and shouldn’t be shared.

So if Qing had been some other martial artist, even a righteous-sect member, it would’ve been extremely difficult for them to simply decide, on the spot, to entrust such things to the Sichuan Tang Clan.

Or they would’ve demanded an enormous price.

But Qing handed it over gladly, without asking for compensation or reward.

What the Sichuan Tang Clan felt at that—

It wasn’t something words could describe.

So how were they supposed to repay this kindness?

Money?

But Qing wasn’t someone who cared about gold and silver, and hadn’t it become widely rumored that the Priestess Order Temple was rich these days?

The token of gratitude had already been given—and Qing’s was the highest grade.

There wasn’t really anything left to give, but they still had to express this immense gratitude.

So what was left?

Honor. Popular goodwill.

And that was why the people of Chengdu, for no reason at all, were enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime, absurdly abundant New Year.

Would Qing miss a blowout feast like this?

The streets were hung with red lanterns that called in fortune—red symbolized wealth and luck, the color the Central Plains loved most. Random clotheslines crisscrossed the road in chaotic disorder, and red lanterns dangled from them, lighting the black night in a gentle sway.

Beneath them, commoners in high spirits clinked bronze bowls filled with cloudy rice wine, chugging and roaring. “VICTORIES, HEAVENLY FLOWER SWORD!” “BEST TASTE UNDER HEAVEN!” “SICHUAN’S NUMBER-ONE SWORD!”

Mm... but it felt kind of weird that her name kept showing up in every toast.

And what was “Sichuan’s Number-One Sword,” anyway? Why was that her?

Still, in all places and all ages, the one who buys you food is the greatest. To Chengdu’s commoners right now, the Heavenly Flower Sword truly was Sichuan’s number one.

Children, thrilled by free sweets for once, ran around with both hands full—candy in one, candied fruit skewers in the other.

And in the square by the well, a massive lion with more than ten legs swayed and danced.

Amazingly, the lion-dance performers were practically volunteers.

They made it themselves, practiced it themselves, and after sweating through it all, they brought it out a few times a year—New Year, Mid-Autumn Festival—and threw themselves into the joy.

But usually, the passion of the person controlling the lion head far exceeded the rest of the body.

So most of the time, the head went wild and frisky, while the body dragged behind it, unable to hide its exhaustion.

If they were professional acrobats specializing in lion dances—leaping, flipping, spinning, raising hell—then that was impressive in its own way.

But this—this was funny in its own way too.

Jayeo’s eyes sparkled for once as she watched the slightly creaky lion dance, overfull of enthusiasm.

“That... monster. Monster.”

“Hey. That’s a lion. A lion.”

“Lion? That lion?”

“It doesn’t look like one. But it’s a lion.”

At that, Jegal Ihyeon’s eyes lit up too.

“Big Sister? You’ve seen a lion before?”

“Huh? You haven’t?”

“Where would I see a lion? Isn’t that an animal that lives out in Persia or India?”

“Ah. Right.”

Come to think of it, it wasn’t like the Central Plains had zoos.

Well, technically, there was one.

Over in the Forbidden City.

But the Forbidden City’s menagerie was where they kept rare animals presented to the Son of Heaven.

It wasn’t exactly a place you could go just because you felt like seeing it.

“If it doesn’t resemble one, then what does it look like?”

“Mm. Like... a yellow tiger without stripes, but with a mane slapped on? Ah, only the males. The females aren’t much different from a yellow tiger.”

If an animal scholar heard that, they’d be deeply aggrieved, but Qing’s biology knowledge was about that level.

Come to think of it, couldn’t tigers and lions even crossbreed?

Mm. In her homeland, what did they call that? A lig—? A ti—? Whatever.

Anyway.

They wandered without a destination, eating, and eating, and eating, and eating—honestly, what purpose did a feast like this even need?

It was just people-watching and the fun of greedily stuffing your face for once without worrying about anything.

And then, at some point—

FWEEEEEE....

A sharp sound from far away—like a flute, but thinning out fast as it fled into the distance.

And then—

BOOM...! BADABADA-BOOM!

White, red, blue-green bursts bloomed in points across the night sky, dazzling.

FWEE, FWEEEEEE—shells shot up one after another, and the sky filled with blossoms of fire.

Fireworks were a spectacle even modern people, used to light pollution, couldn’t tear their eyes from. In the Central Plains, where entertainment and sights were scarce, what else could it be but sorcery?

People on the ground were bewitched, staring up at the sky painted in fire.

A grand fireworks display announcing the end of one year and the start of the next.

Ah. Another year passed like this.

So how many years had she been in the martial world now?

Seven years?

Wow. Then she was basically at ten. If you round up, it’s ten, so she’d already been in this primitive ancient Central Plains for almost ten years.

Yeah. Ten years already (not really)....

When she thought about it, when she first fell into this primitive era, it had been so miserable—

“Qing, New Year’s luck—” “New Year’s luck, lots—”

Tang Nanna and Seol Iri spoke at the same time, then turned to glare at each other with annoyed expressions.

Jayeo, held in Gyeon Pohee’s arms, just tilted her head up, both eyes empty and captivated by the fireworks.

“May you receive much luck in the new year.”

“San, you too. And less romance luck.”

“Big Sister, please receive much luck in the new year.”

“Yeah. You too, Jegal.”

Trading New Year greetings with her friends like this made something in her chest itch and tingle.

Mm. This is all... mm.

I miss my teacher....

The fireworks continued.

And when the fireworks ended, this feast would end too.

After all, the first day of the new year would be busy from morning.

They had to sleep, wake up early, and pay New Year’s respects to the elders, eat the blessed first meal of the year, and perform ancestral rites for their ancestors.

And then, at some point—

The fireworks that had painted the sky cut off abruptly, and only the heavy smell of gunpowder drifted through the air, arriving late.

It was the moment a year fully passed.

Seomun Cheong—seventh year since stepping into the Martial World: begin.

*****

What is the start of the new year?

Rice-cake soup.

If there’s no rice-cake soup, it isn’t the new year.

But the Central Plains rice-cake soup was, unfortunately, completely different from Qing’s homeland.

Because Central Plains rice-cake soup was a bowl where honey rice cakes—or rice cakes stuffed with sweet red-bean paste—were plunked down into a rich, salty meat broth.

If she had to name it...

Honey-rice-cake soup?

This—this isn’t rice-cake soup!

Sweet rice cakes in meat broth? A food like this must not exist! A food like this must not exist in the world!

A food like this must not exist, which meant it needed to be removed quickly.

She couldn’t throw food away, so there was only one way to erase this horrible food-adjacent thing from existence:

Eat it.

So Qing cleared the rice-cake soup with fierce diligence.

Tragically, heartbreakingly—

Honey-rice-cake soup was delicious.

It shouldn’t be delicious, but was sweet-and-salty really unbeatable...?!

And so, the woman who devoured a “marvel and wonder,” clearing rice-cake soup—

After the Tang Clan banquet hall traded astonished stares for a while.

After breakfast came the time children waited for all year, and adults did not want:

The time to collect New Year’s money.

So the morning table had been cleared, and they were waiting, thinking about when to go offer New Year’s bows—

But then?

The Tang Clan Lord dismissed the family.

“Mm. You’ll need to pay your respects to the Prince first before you do New Year’s bows, so you all go take your New Year bath or something. He’ll probably come after lunch. Ah—and Heavenly Flower Sword, shouldn’t you pay your respects to the Prince?”

“Ah. Right.”

Only then did Qing remember someone.

Come to think of it... Jayu lived in Chengdu, didn’t they?